


211 - 27 Club, Emergency Rooms, & Ballerina Reader

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “i was thinking of the 27 club myth. i was thinking that the relationship starts with van asking for a light but backpedaling when he realizes its a white lighter, or van and reader going to the gas station to pick up a few things and the reader tries to buy a white lighter, or lighting candles with a white lighter, etc. just cute little milestones in their relationship and they all include the light” and “a story where the reader gets hurt really bad and van panics n shit. Maybe while she’s in the E.R., she wants van, but they don’t let him in?"Bonus mini-requests for a ballerina Reader and buying Van a fridge.





	211 - 27 Club, Emergency Rooms, & Ballerina Reader

His hand froze mid-air as he reached out for your lighter.

"Do you have a different one?" he asked in a very serious tone.

"Um… maybe?" you replied, digging through your duffle bag. There was probably a whole stash of lighters in there. He took the second one from your hand and lit his smoke. Watching him exhale through his nose, you waited for an explanation. He held the cigarette out to you. "Oh, no, thanks. I don't smoke," you replied.

"Why you got lighters then?"

"I use them to wear in my pointes," you answered. He looked at you with confusion. "I dance… ballet… When we get new shoes, pointes, we have to wear them in and stuff,"

"Oh, yeah, no. I've seen that in the movies. You hack at them and stuff, yeah. Makes sense,"

"Yeah. And the first lighter… what was with that?"

He looked around. You were standing at a bus stop. There had been nobody else around when he'd approached asking if you had a lighter.

"It's white… Gotta thing about white lighters," he replied.

"A thing?"

He looked uncomfortable, so maybe you should have stopped pressing, but you were genuinely interested. "You haven't heard that white lighter, club of 27 myth?" He paused and you shook your head. "You know the club of 27 though, right? Apparently they all died with a white lighter on them. It's bad luck, see," he explained.

"How old are you?" you replied. He grinned.

"Yeah, not 27. Not even a superstitious person or anythin'. Don't know why it bugs me so much," he said with a shrug.

"Would it make you feel better if we threw it out?" you asked. He looked at you for a second, trying to work out if you were mocking him or not. It was why he had been apprehensive about telling you in the first place. Clearly, his friends gave him a lot of shit for it.

"You don't gotta throw it out because I'm a weirdo," he said. You put your bag on the bus stop bench seat and went through it again. Five lighters in total, two of which were white. You held them up to him, he nodded, then you walked the few metres to the bin.

"Feel better?"

"Weirdly, yeah."

From around the corner of the street, your bus appeared.

"This you?" he asked. You nodded, picking up your bag. "Me too."

On the bus you showed Van your pointes. He was impressed, and it made you feel all warm. Numbers swapped, you watched him get off on the main street and wave from the sidewalk.

…

On your first date, a candle on the table at the restaurant went out. The waiter sparked it again using a white lighter, and your eyes flicked up to Van. Alone again, you smirked.

"That's it. We're doomed," he said. You laughed and reached out to pat his hand in sympathy. He threaded his fingers through yours.

…

A few weeks later, when you met Mary and Bernie for the first time, they made you do a pirouette in their kitchen. They clapped and laughed as you twirled, and as you bowed, you caught Van's eye. He smiled with pride and winked.

"So, this one is track six, right?" Bernie asked over tea and crumpets.

"Remember, he said that one was all made up. She's track eight," Mary corrected.

"And two. Didn't you write that one after you saw her dance for the first time?" Bernie continued.

Van's cheeks went pink. Even the tip of his pretty nose blushed. He was in the process of writing another album and had obviously updated his parents about all the ways you and it were connected.

"Please stop," he said to them.

As you watched them catch up, listening more than talking, you focused on the lighter in Bernie's hands. He was rotating it upside down and back right side up. It was white. If Van noticed, he didn't say anything.

You stayed later than you'd planned and eventually curled up on the couch in front of the open fire with Van. Mary had gone off to bed, but Van and Bernie had more to talk about. With the sound of the crackling fire and the record player that was older than you making music from the corner of the room, you drifted off to sleep.

…

"Too late," you said shortly.

"Babe,"

"Babe nothing. You need a proper fridge,"

"Then I'll just buy one if it bothers you that much," Van said. There was a knock on his front door. "Now?"

"Yeah, now."

The delivery guy moved the weird mini bar fridge from the space and replaced it with the real deal. You asked him if he wanted to keep the smaller one. A kid in college in need, it was a happy coincidence. You walked him out before returning to the kitchen. Van stood in front of the buzzing silver appliance.

"Can't believe you gave my fridge away," he mumbled, arms folded across his chest.

"Thank you, Y/N, for buying me a fridge. Now I can buy more vegetables and eat more than just toasties," you said in a mocking tone. He rolled his head to look at you.

"Sorry," he said, pulling you into a hug. "I am grateful. Thank you. Weird present, but thank you."

The delivery guy wasn't allowed to take the giant box the fridge came in with him. If he could, the company would have a fuckload of cardboard to deal with. Instead, you smashed it up and build a little fire out of it in the backyard.

Searching his house high and low, the only fire making thing was a white lighter.

…

"It was so bad, Van. Like, I saw her ankle bone and everything," you said. He made a sound that was mostly disgust, but part amusement over the phone. You were standing outside the dance studio watching a girl being put in the back of an ambulance.

"So how'd it happen?"

"I don't even know. One minute she was sitting next to me breaking in her pointes, then she was telling the new girl off for not doing something right, then bam! On the floor. Blood everywhere. Ankle snapped. It was so fucked up," you told him, lowering your voice so the others didn't overhear you telling your boyfriend any gory details. "I've never seen a bone before,"

"Gross, Y/N. You know why it happened right?"

"What do you mean?"

"She probably used a light whiter on her shoes,"

"Van. I don't think that's how the myth even goes. Like, it's not like they're bad luck for everyone for everything. Just 27-year-old musicians should avoid having them on their person," you replied, laughing.

"Whatever. I bet you she was."

Back inside, you helped clean up the blood and pack up the girl's thing. The last thing you put into her bag before zipping it up was her white lighter.

…

Van was early. He was meant to pick you up at midday, after your session with the first graders. Instead, he showed up halfway through. You walked to him and greeted him with a hug. You could hear the little kids giggle.

"You okay?" you asked.

"Yeah. Sorry. Sorry, early. I was gonna sit outside and have a smoke," he explained.

"But…?"

He paused and did the face that said he was gonna say something he was a little embarrassed about.

"Can't find my lighter. Asked two people that walked past,"

"And they had only white lighters?" He nodded with a frown. "I can get you-" you went to say, went to move.

"Nah, it's fine. Should cut back anyway. Is it cool if I just sit in here?"

Van had never seen you working with the kids before. He'd sat in on a couple of the adult sessions, and your own training and shows. Always supportive, but never really engaged, he didn't care much for ballet. The kids though, they amused him. He laughed at their attempts at pirouettes and started to clap when they did well.

Georgie, who always wore a tutu regardless of if she was dancing or not, came up and pulled at your skirt. You crouched down.

"What's up?" you asked.

"Who's dat?" she asked, pointing at Van. He watched with a smirk.

"That's my boyfriend,"

"Does he dance too?"

"Not like we do," you answered.

"Can he try? Everyone tries everything once," she said, mimicking a sentiment you'd tried to instil in them. You smiled and nodded at her.

"Yeah. Go ask him. He's nice."

You watched Georgie skip over to Van. They had a whispered conversation which ended with her clapping as Van stood up from where he’d planted himself on the floor. She told him to take his shoes off, then she took his hand and pulled him to the group. The other kids stood around them in a messy circle.

"This is Van," she introduced him. With his free hand, he waved. "He's new so we gots to teach him how to dance."

You stood back and let them run the class. Van kept glancing up at you, but he wasn't asking to be saved. He was having the time of his life. As multiple children yelled at him to keep his lines straight and toes pointed, he twirled faster and faster, aiming not for precision or beauty, but for laughter. And laugh, they did. Their little cheeks puffed up and their eyes watered. By the time their parents came to collect them, they were acting like tiny little drunk people. They all screamed goodbyes at Van, hugged his legs, and had to be dragged away from him with promises of ice cream.

When the room settled into a weird silence, you let Van wrap his arms around your waist.

"You're a horrible dancer," you informed him. "In my professional opinion,"

"Yeah. But I gave it a go and that's the important thing," he replied.

"Well, that's what I tell the kids."

…

It felt like being in a glass bubble on the surface of a stormy ocean. You were safe, protected, but that calmness only existed in the small space around you. Everywhere else was chaos. The emergency room close by was a screaming room of pain and panic.

You'd been rehearsing for a show, and you vaguely remember breakfast, but that could have been from the previous day. Not enough water had been consumed, and under the heat of the lights and in the sleep deprived state of a ballerina, you had collapsed. Only half conscious on the taxi ride to the hospital, you cried for Van. The two girls with you took your phone and called him, saying to meet them there.

You'd been waiting only two minutes in the dirty emergency room seat before falling completely unconscious. They'd determined you were concussed and moved you to a room. You were alone but could hear the nurses and doctors and other patients. Nobody was coming to check on you. Sitting up and looking around, you watched fluid drip through a tube and enter your arm through a needle.

Sitting for ten minutes, you had nothing else to do but watch the clock. If you moved too much your head started to pound. Then, you heard his voice. Van was somewhere close by yelling your name. A very flustered nurse appeared in the door.

"Uh, Miss. Only family is allowed in outside of visiting hours. But-"

"He won't go unless he sees me," you said, sitting up. She rushed over and pressed the button that would move the bed for you.

"He isn't allowed in, I'm sorry. I just need your permission to update him,"

"But I want to see him."

On cue, Van came crashing through the door, chased by a doctor.

"Come on, man," he said, begging Van to obey the rules.

"They said you passed out? And hit your head? Babe," Van said quickly, half climbing onto the bed himself. He pulled you close in a hug that was too tight.

"Van. Van. Let go. I'm okay," you said. He pulled a chair close by and took your hand in his. "I was just dehydrated. Should've drunk more. I'm fine. I'm sorry I freaked you out."

The nurse and doctor awkwardly hovered, not knowing what do. Van wasn't causing a scene now that he was within touching distance of you, so besides the bending of rules, there really wasn't a problem. They conceded to let him stay and left the room quietly.

Van reached out to pat your hair. He took the hair tie off your wrist and pulled your hair into a bun. It let the cool hospital room air touch the back of your neck.

"Good?" he whispered. You nodded. "Here," he said, getting up and running a stack of paper towel from the room's sink under water. He gently placed it on your neck. You nodded. "Yeah? Okay. Do you need anything else?"

"No. I'm fine. Just a little concussed. Have to stay in overnight. They'll move me soon. You should just go home, get some rest."

Van reaction was somewhere between a gasp and a snort. "Not leaving you,"

"They won't let you stay," you replied, grinning and rolling onto your side to face him. You had to carefully rearrange the tube coming from your arm.

"Then they'll have to drag me out."

Probably, they would. You rolled your eyes. "You're so dramatic."

Nurses returned to your room and asked Van to leave. He didn't. He sat on the edge of your bed as they wheeled it to a different part of the hospital. He grinned at the nurses when one of them said, "Who are we to break up young love?"

In a recovery room, you and Van stayed quiet because the girl in the next bed over was asleep. Whenever she moved Van would look over at her, like he was watching out for her as well as you.

"Wonder why she's here," he said.

"Also didn't drink enough water,"

"Used a white lighter,"

"Funny," you whispered.

"Wait, did you? Like, today, for your shoes?"

"Do you think I break in new pointes every day?"

"Just checking, because-"

"I know," you interrupted, wiggling down into the scratchy sheets. "You can go now. Bring me coffee and a croissant tomorrow, okay?"

Van sat up in the chair. He looked around. "I'm-"

"No. You're not sleeping in a hospital chair. You're going home, having a smoke, getting some rest, then bringing me clean clothes, coffee, and a croissant. With cheese. Got it?"

"You're so bossy when you're concussed," Van replied with a small chuckle.

He left you with a kiss on the head and an honest I love you. He returned in the morning with your requests and had brought breakfast for your hospital roommate too. Piggy backed to the car, you rejoiced at the throw blanket Van had brought for you to cuddle into on the ride home.

"Should get hurt more often if I get spoilt like this," you mumbled.

"If you want more coffee and fuzzy blankets, just say. Don't go banging ya head against the floor again, thanks," Van replied in a too-serious tone. You smiled softly, sleepily. You closed your eyes and had a lil' ballerina nap while Van watched over you.


End file.
